Nightingale Blues
by Alithea
Summary: Ten years after the series end Electra finds herself on Mars waiting to meet an aquaintence.


**Title: Nightingale Blues  
****Rating: PG-13  
****Characters from Cowboy Bebop  
****Ten years after the series end**

The weather controls for the district were on the fritz and what should have been an overly hot and humid summer evening was unusually cool, and a blanket of clouds hid what little stars could normally be seen against the neon glow of the seedy downtown area. All dark purple and yellow-orange glow, vendors closing up for the evening thought it might rain, but the clouds were too thin for that. A strong breeze moved the clouds across the sky as the darker workers of the night crawled out of their hiding places.

The neighborhood that Electra Olivo was in was not a good one, but she was hard pressed to think of a neighborhood in that district of Mars that could be considered good. Bars and pool halls were mixed in amid small markets, liquor stores, and run down apartments that no one ever stayed in for very long. One's imagination could run away with all the reasons why that was. The woman's didn't. She recognized every possible answer having seen plenty of what life in districts such as this did to people.

Electra, dressed androgynously enough to have had a few evening ladies stop and form the beginnings of business offers, was leaning against a wall next to a rather questionable looking staircase that led up to an apartment complex. Her features, shadowed by the brim of her fedora and occasionally given light by the flickering streetlights, were feminine but rough. Carrying all the hints of life worn thin and hard but she was still undeniably beautiful despite those facts. Her arms were crossed over her chest, any street wise punk with enough smarts might have noticed the slight bulge under her jacket from her firearm, and she had a foot propped on the wall.

As she stood there she wondered how long she would have to wait. The woman she was meeting was never on time, but always seemed to carry a good excuse. She had certainly not expected the call she had received. She was quite sure that their last encounter would be the last, perhaps this was just a social call. She chuckled at the optimism in that thought.

The wait wasn't nearly as long as she suspected it would be though. The sound of a rather recognizable high heeled gait caught her attention, though it wasn't enough to make her look over. It was the voice that pulled her gaze, playful and sensual as ever, but knowing, definitely a lot more grown up than the last time she had heard it.

"So, you've given up on the toreador look, Ms. Olivo." The woman stepped closer and grinned slightly, but her next words came out sadly bitter, "You look like him."

Electra shrugged. "Not intentionally."

The reply was almost a barb. Almost, and the woman narrowed her green eyes briefly before she looked away, slowly. Electra wondered if the woman's new look was an intentional impersonation of someone, but there were so many little hints of what she remembered of the woman, noticeable throughout, that made the change seem like a natural progression. The hair was longer, but the signature head band remained. The overly exposing outfit from the past had been replaced by a less revealing, but still very form fitting black leather bodysuit with yellow trim around the sleeves and collar, and, of course, the high heeled boots to match.

"We should go up." The woman said, and turned towards the questionable looking staircase that groaned and creaked with each step.

Electra followed the woman closely, pushing up the sleeves of her black jacket at the immediate feel of warmth from inside the apartment complex. They walked in silence to the top floor, four stories up, and with each level the heat grew, until their destination was reached and the door to the woman's apartment was opened.

The cold breeze from outside filtered through the open windows of the tiny apartment. It was barely big enough for one person, and though Spartan, scattered with random piles of clothing, a small mattress, and two wooden chairs, the place felt exceedingly cramped. The woman shut the door and immediately picked up a bottle and two glasses from the floor.

"Care for a drink?"

Electra noted the label on the bottle and shrugged a haphazard reply that the woman took as a yes. A glass was filled with about two inches of the golden liquid and then offered out to be accepted. Electra took the glass and smelled the alcohol, she was never a tequila fan, but it seemed like good stuff. She took a sip and was thankful for the smooth burn as she took a seat on one of the chairs. She held the glass in both hands and waited for the woman to sit down. Looking down at the ratty carpeted floor of the apartment as she listened to the woman pour another glass, take a sip, and then mutter something under her breath. It might have been a curse or a prayer, but Electra didn't hear the exact words. It was more of a feeling, and a bad one at that.

The woman took a seat and looked Electra over in the dim light. The apartment was too dark since it didn't have a working lamp, only the blue neon from the sign on the next building over filtered in. Everything in the room felt dreamy and unreal, certainly not helping with the matter that was going to be at hand.

"You should wear a tie with that outfit. It'd look better." The woman said and then quickly drank down the remaining liquid in her glass.

"Wouldn't that make me look more like him?" Electra regretted the question immediately and shook her head. "I hear you've been rather successful lately, Faye."

The woman chuckled and put her glass on the floor. "Only with small fries, but I suppose it pays the bills."

"You never pay your bills."

Faye grinned. "But I do pay," she whispered.

Electra watched Faye closely, the woman's green eyes focusing in on her for a moment before drifting down and then to the side. Electra sighed. She didn't want her assumption to be true, but knew that it was. There was no denying it.

"How many?"

"What?" Faye looked over and blinked.

"The butterflies, Faye, how many do you see?" She asked sternly.

Faye shut her eyes and grinned, huffing out a laugh. "I'm fairly certain it's just the one." She opened her eyes and looked up towards the ceiling. "There may be two, but it's hard to tell."

Electra shook her head. It shouldn't be possible. It shouldn't have been happening. Faye should have been cured like everyone else was ten years earlier, but she wasn't. She wasn't cured; the vaccine that had flowed through Vincent's veins was still present, and its side effects were currently showing themselves. But this was hardly the first time it had been brought to Electra's attention.

"I'm not sure I can help you again," Electra said. She looked at the drink in her hand and took a sip. Five years ago she had gotten a similar call from the woman sitting across from her. She hadn't wanted to believe it, but after taking a sample of Faye's blood she had confirmed it. In Faye what was a vaccine to a hideous virus was now a virus in itself. What was worse, Electra found she still had a cure in her own veins, but it wasn't having the same affect on her, at least not yet, maybe not ever.

Faye crossed her legs and sat back in the chair. It was an uncomfortable chair, fitting for the position she was currently in. She was tired and wondered whatever had happened to her chances at an early death. Given her profession as a bounty hunter and card playing cheat she was hard pressed for a good reason she was still alive, except that she always fought to remain. No matter the tough scrape or impossible predicament she always lived to see another day. She wanted to blame him. She wanted to blame it on Spike for dying, and for accepting that death was waiting for him. For making that his only answer, when there must have been another one somewhere. Somewhere there had to be another chance at life, but then, there wasn't.

She shut her eyes and listened to the sound of Electra moving towards her. The short distance between chairs crossed in an instant. Everything was far too close lately, jobs, bullets, escapes, and now this woman. This woman that had been a soldier and was now a P.I., that remained beautiful even after the harsh years and despite her boyish appearance. She wanted nothing more than to separate herself from the situation, to accept what she was ultimately faced with.

Faye opened her eyes and stood up. "It won't work again."

"It might." Electra struggled.

"I don't want to try it, Electra. It's not worth it to me to finish that bottle and fall into some dumb male fantasy." She felt her gaze drifting and out of the corner of her eye she saw it. The yellow light and hazy trail of the butterfly, no, there were two. "You just aren't my type." She said and patted Electra on the cheek. "I just called…because I thought you should know. Just in case-"

"No." Electra said quickly. "I'm not going to do it for you Faye."

"That's not what I meant."

"I'm not certain I believe you."

Faye stepped around Electra to where she had set the bottle of tequila and picked it up. She took a swig from it and then set it down again. She glanced over at Electra, and wondered if perhaps the butterflies were multiplying because of the booze. Was it nothing to do with that damn virus at all? Was she just going mad? Did it matter?

Yes. Of course it did. Despite everything that was horrible about her life, and there was a lot that had been horrible, it was still her life. She wanted a second chance. She wanted that other beginning. The one he didn't take. The one he couldn't see. The one she wanted him to see. She needed to know it was out there, some other life where the past was stripped bare and forgotten.

She closed the distance between herself and Electra, kissing her roughly, without the least hint of attraction or affection. They parted just as quickly as they had come together and then Faye moved to the window and looked down on the street below.

"You should go."

Electra gritted her teeth and looked over at Faye. Words caught in her throat and she retreated out of the apartment, slamming the door as she left. She took the stairs two at a time through staggering heat, and then again, out in the cool breeze, down the unstable outer stairs leading to the street. Her fists were clenched tightly and she could barely muster the strength to look up when she heard the gun shot mixed with the sound of broken glass.

She stood stock still for a moment and then she sighed, a bitter breath escaping her mouth, tripping over the aftertaste of the tequila and Faye's lips. She lowered her fedora over her brow and walked slowly down the street into the night. Stopping only once to look skyward and follow the yellow trail of light against the dark purple clouds and orange light reflected from the streets below. They'd never leave her, those butterflies, but she'd never follow them into the darkness.

End.


End file.
